you see, you were wrong. The young man you saved that day proved to be the very definition of what you hated. Those women you so cruelly beat had a greater sense of morality in their little fingers than I have in my whole being. You took it out on the wrong people, Hilda. It was all for nothing, everything you ever did was all for nothing.’
‘No, I cannot believe this.’
‘And now I’ve fallen from grace, cast aside, and I have nothing.’
‘Oh please, now you’re going to tell me that with nothing, you’re happier than ever; that you lead a more fulfilling existence.’ She laughed.
‘No, I’m not – I’d have it back in an instant. Who wouldn’t? But I would want to be younger, and be in a rock band, and take drugs, and go to orgies.’
‘Do you really think I believe that? You’re pathetic. Your circumstances may change but you can’t change who you are.’
‘You said it, Hilda, you said it.’
She leant back in her chair. ‘Thank you for taking the time to visit me, Maestro.’
‘Fine, I’m happy to go.’
‘Good.’
I rose from my chair. The guard came over, perhaps to ensure I didn’t start shouting again. I turned to leave. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. I brought you a cake. Reception said it’d be OK.’ I placed the box on the table, removing its lid. ‘I hope you like it. It’s, erm… homemade.’
*
By the time I’d returned to Annecy, it was dark and raining. From the station, I caught the bus back to my little village. All the way home from Rennes, I asked myself time and again, whether I’d been honest with Hilda – would I want it all again? Perhaps, I thought, perhaps. All I did know was that, having seen her, I would never see her again.
Exhausted after such a long day, I opened the door to my house and was greeted by an over-excited and hungry Claude. I let him out for a pee and then fed him. Having dried him off, I put on some Moroccan music and settled down for the evening with Claude on his back on my lap, and felt a surge of affection for my little home. As I tapped my foot and tickled Claude’s stomach, I realised it had taken the whole day but Hilda had given me the answer I was looking for after all – I had no desire to go back to my old life.
Part Three
Annecy, September 1982
‘I think perhaps, after all, I will have that cup of tea.’
‘And why not, Monsieur Bowen, why not.’
I left him sitting in my squashy settee, reading his notes. ‘So, you weren’t tempted to get another dog?’
‘Yes,’ I shouted from the kitchen as I poured water into the kettle. ‘But it’s too soon. Claude only died earlier this year. He was fourteen, poor old thing.’
I made the tea and found a packet of biscuits and arranged a few on a plate.
‘Sugar?’
‘No thanks.’ I handed him his tea and the plate. ‘Thank you. You never re-married then, Maestro?’
‘No. I’m still waiting for Isabelle.’
‘Are you?’
I laughed. ‘No, sadly not. I never heard from her again but I know she’s still doing well.’
‘Still married to that Jesus fellow?’
‘Jacques. No. I heard they’d divorced. Recently. That came as a surprise.’
‘You seem to know a lot about her,’ he said, tackling a biscuit.
‘I look out for her, and she’s often mentioned in that music magazine.’
‘Yes, she’s considered the country’s top cellist.’
‘Indeed. Here’s to Isabelle and her continued success,’ I said, raising my cup of tea.
‘And you, Maestro – you’ve never been tempted to return to music?’
‘No, not now. I’m too old now anyway.’
‘Nonsense, you’re only what – sixty?’
‘Sixty, going on eighty.’
‘But, of course, what I really want to know, is what happened to Hilda Lapointe. We know you didn’t actually poison her!’
‘No! Tempting as it was.’
‘And that she was released in 1971–’
‘Yes, she’d served three years.’
‘But after that, whoosh – she just vanished.’ He took a sip of his tea. ‘I asked
‘No, I cannot believe this.’
‘And now I’ve fallen from grace, cast aside, and I have nothing.’
‘Oh please, now you’re going to tell me that with nothing, you’re happier than ever; that you lead a more fulfilling existence.’ She laughed.
‘No, I’m not – I’d have it back in an instant. Who wouldn’t? But I would want to be younger, and be in a rock band, and take drugs, and go to orgies.’
‘Do you really think I believe that? You’re pathetic. Your circumstances may change but you can’t change who you are.’
‘You said it, Hilda, you said it.’
She leant back in her chair. ‘Thank you for taking the time to visit me, Maestro.’
‘Fine, I’m happy to go.’
‘Good.’
I rose from my chair. The guard came over, perhaps to ensure I didn’t start shouting again. I turned to leave. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. I brought you a cake. Reception said it’d be OK.’ I placed the box on the table, removing its lid. ‘I hope you like it. It’s, erm… homemade.’
*
By the time I’d returned to Annecy, it was dark and raining. From the station, I caught the bus back to my little village. All the way home from Rennes, I asked myself time and again, whether I’d been honest with Hilda – would I want it all again? Perhaps, I thought, perhaps. All I did know was that, having seen her, I would never see her again.
Exhausted after such a long day, I opened the door to my house and was greeted by an over-excited and hungry Claude. I let him out for a pee and then fed him. Having dried him off, I put on some Moroccan music and settled down for the evening with Claude on his back on my lap, and felt a surge of affection for my little home. As I tapped my foot and tickled Claude’s stomach, I realised it had taken the whole day but Hilda had given me the answer I was looking for after all – I had no desire to go back to my old life.
Part Three
Annecy, September 1982
‘I think perhaps, after all, I will have that cup of tea.’
‘And why not, Monsieur Bowen, why not.’
I left him sitting in my squashy settee, reading his notes. ‘So, you weren’t tempted to get another dog?’
‘Yes,’ I shouted from the kitchen as I poured water into the kettle. ‘But it’s too soon. Claude only died earlier this year. He was fourteen, poor old thing.’
I made the tea and found a packet of biscuits and arranged a few on a plate.
‘Sugar?’
‘No thanks.’ I handed him his tea and the plate. ‘Thank you. You never re-married then, Maestro?’
‘No. I’m still waiting for Isabelle.’
‘Are you?’
I laughed. ‘No, sadly not. I never heard from her again but I know she’s still doing well.’
‘Still married to that Jesus fellow?’
‘Jacques. No. I heard they’d divorced. Recently. That came as a surprise.’
‘You seem to know a lot about her,’ he said, tackling a biscuit.
‘I look out for her, and she’s often mentioned in that music magazine.’
‘Yes, she’s considered the country’s top cellist.’
‘Indeed. Here’s to Isabelle and her continued success,’ I said, raising my cup of tea.
‘And you, Maestro – you’ve never been tempted to return to music?’
‘No, not now. I’m too old now anyway.’
‘Nonsense, you’re only what – sixty?’
‘Sixty, going on eighty.’
‘But, of course, what I really want to know, is what happened to Hilda Lapointe. We know you didn’t actually poison her!’
‘No! Tempting as it was.’
‘And that she was released in 1971–’
‘Yes, she’d served three years.’
‘But after that, whoosh – she just vanished.’ He took a sip of his tea. ‘I asked
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